


with words of love

by lockhearted



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockhearted/pseuds/lockhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barry draws Oliver's name in the first ever Team Flash/Team Arrow Secret Santa, he has no idea what to get—he just knows that it has to be perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with words of love

**Author's Note:**

> Quickly written and unbetaed, but I wanted to get this out in time for the holidays.  
> Merry Christmas, all you awesome people! :)

“Dude,” Cisco says one night in early December as Barry zips into STAR Labs after a successful night out, “I have got the best idea. Check it—” he holds his hands up to frame a distant horizon, “—a Team Flash-Team Arrow Secret Santa. Awesome, right?”

There’s an easy way to gauge if Cisco’s idea is sound or not—Barry turns to Caitlin.

She shrugs. “It sounds like fun. And like not a lot can go wrong”

“Exactly,” Cisco says, shooting finger guns at her. “Santa Flash can exchange the gifts on Christmas Eve, we all open ‘em at midnight, and then everyone will be in town on New Year’s for the big reveal. Yeah? Yeah?” He turns his finger guns to shoot them at Barry.

Barry laughs. He can’t say no when Cisco’s this excited, and besides, it does sound like it would be fun—or at least like it would involve significantly less danger than what the teams usually got up to together. “All right, yes, let’s do it.”

“I am so glad you said that,” Cisco says, “because Felicity and I may have already made the matcher. Behold, Saint Pick-for-Us! Get it, like Saint Nicholas, but _Pick-for-Us_?”

“That’s a terrible name,” Caitlin says.

“It’s an awesome name,” Cisco returns. He hits some keys at his workstation and the central monitor lights up with an image of a jolly cartoon Santa Claus. On the left are names from the vigilante team in Star City—Oliver, Felicity, Dig, Laurel, Thea, Ray—and on the right are some familiar Central City names—himself, Cisco, Caitlin, and Iris.

“Jax and Prof Stein are still off doing… whatever,” Cisco says, wiggling his hands vaguely, “so the Central City group’s a bit small and sad but, you know. We’re trying.”

“Okay,” Barry says. “So how does this work?”

“Well, first I confirm that we’re all in over here,” Cisco says, pressing some keys that causes all of the Central City names to light up in green.

“Wait a second,” Barry says. “Does Iris know about this?”

“Dude, it’s a Secret Santa with, like, three billionaires in the pool. Why would she say no?” Cisco scoffs.

Caitlin shrugs, the twist in her expression saying _he has a point._

Okay, fine. “So now what?”

“Now, we wait until Felicity gets the confirmation from everyone over in Team Arrow, which should be happening… any moment now…” Cisco says, fingers drumming over the keys. “Aaaaany second now.” He checks his watch, then keeps staring at it.

Barry and Caitlin exchange exasperated looks.

“Aha, there we go!” Cisco says, gesturing triumphantly at the screen.

All the names are green now, and Saint Pick-for-Us is laughing maniacally while blinking red numbers count down from 30.

Barry’s a bit disturbed and wonders whose design idea it was. Between Felicity and Cisco, it’s honestly a bit of a toss-up.

“Now the matching begins,” Cisco says, apparently oblivious to the fact that Saint Pick-for-Us looks almost as much of a homicidal maniac as The Trickster. “It’s a pseudo-random algorithm, created by Felicity, with extra chances of getting cross-team Santa-ing and zero chances of getting yourself, because that would suck. When the timer runs out, Saint Pick-for-us will text you the identity of your Secret Santa buddy. No take backs.”

“It is a step above the names in a hat,” Caitlin admits.

“Are there, like, wish lists or something?” Barry asks. He’s pretty sure every Secret Santa he’s participated in has involved wish lists of some sort, and it would be helpful in case he were to get someone like Thea, who he’s spoken to only once or twice.

“You know, I knew we forgot something when we were putting this together,” Cisco says, clasping his hands together. “I’ll put it in the notes for version 2.0.”

“So no wish lists.”

“Hey, we’re all friends here,” Cisco says, spreading his hands out and inadvertently highlighting the fact that he’s wearing a T-shirt of a Dalek with _EXTERMINATE!_ printed on it in all caps. “I trust in your abilities to make wise gift-giving choices.”

Barry’s cell phone buzzes in his pocket the same time Caitlin’s trills and Cisco’s makes some noise that Barry thinks is from a video game but can’t quite place.

“Moment of truth!” Cisco says.

Barry looks down at his phone and laughs. Just his luck.

He got Oliver Queen.

* * *

It’s December 20th now and the whole Secret Santa thing is so not awesome. Barry can make excuses for days about how he hasn’t had time to go shopping and all that, but the reality of the situation is that despite the fact that they are friends, partners, more, he has absolutely no idea what to get Oliver.

Aside from the fact that Oliver still has assets, like, everywhere even if he doesn’t have a company and can get whatever he wants whenever he wants, Barry just has no idea what the guy _wants_ in the first place.

Does Oliver even have hobbies besides exercising and beating up bad guys?

(Barry’s not sure, but he thinks the answer is _no_.)

So, as has been happening for the past couple of weeks, Barry is ignoring the problem and is instead at home, trying to put together his gift for his dad. It’s taking longer than expected, but Barry doesn’t even notice the time slip by until there’s a jangle of keys and the sound of Iris’s heels on the foyer.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” she asks as she drapes her coat over the back of the couch.

It’s a fair reaction. Barry kind of has things strewn all over the living room, including on top of the couch. “A lot of my dad’s old stuff we had packed away,” he says. “He and my mom wrote a lot of letters to each other when they were younger. I’m trying to get them together to give to him.”

“That’s so sweet,” Iris says, beaming. She comes over to squeeze his shoulders. “I’m sure your dad will love it.”

“Thanks.” Barry smiles. “Hey, speaking of gifts… I’m, like, completely screwed for this Secret Santa thing.”

“You mean the Secret Santa thing you didn’t tell me about until after I got the text,” Iris says.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” Iris plops down on the floor next to him. “So what’s up?”

“Just…” Barry waves his arms around, unsure how to articulate his struggle. “What do you get for someone who already has it all?”

“No one has it all, Barry,” Iris says. She sounds amused.

“Okay, fine, but you know,” Barry continues to move his hands unhelpfully, “Has enough that he probably doesn’t need anything else. And if he did, he’d get it himself.”

Iris slips her arm around his. “I know it sounds so cliche, but it really is the thought that counts, Barry. I’m sure Oliver would appreciate anything you got for him.”

“I didn’t say it was Oliver.”

“If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t be having this much of a problem,” Iris says, smiling wryly. “He’s important to you and you are totally head over heels about him. You want to impress him.”

“I guess so,” Barry says. It’s not false, after all. “Is that bad?”

“It’s not bad, but I think you’re a lot more worried about it than you should be.” Iris squeezes his arm. “I mean, just look at what you’re doing for your dad,” she says, nodding to the mess all over the room. “I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, giving him his own stuff for Christmas, but I bet you your dad will love those letters more than if you bought him his own private island. And you know that. That’s why you’re putting so much time into doing this.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “You are the most thoughtful person I know, Barry. Don’t give yourself such a hard time trying to—to impress him, and just think about what he needs right now that you can give him. It can be a little thing, it doesn’t have to be big. The important part is doing it for him, not for you. Stop worrying about trying to find the perfect gift and you’ll figure it out.”

And that—that makes sense, Barry realizes. His worry about finding the perfect gift for Oliver was really more about himself. It was more concern about what Oliver would think of him once Oliver found out that Barry had given him the present rather than concern about what Oliver actually needs right now.

Barry smiles a little and nudges her back. “Thanks, Iris.”

“Any time,” she says, smiling softly. “You don’t really need my help. You are awesome and kind and thoughtful. You just need a reminder of that sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Barry says. He looks at the papers around him, Iris’s words still echoing in his head, and he thinks he knows what he wants to do. “Actually, I have an idea,” he says. “And I’m gonna need your help, if you have time.”

“Hey, you know I’m always here to help,” Iris says. “What’s the plan? And please tell me this doesn’t involve cutting things, because whenever you ask for me to help around Christmas it’s because you can’t cut things in a straight line.”

Barry just grins.

* * *

Laurel is in Central City visiting her mother, so he goes to her with the idea to see what she thinks. She smiles and hugs him and says, “I have something for you” and comes back with something that really helps him figure it out.

Barry ends up enlisting the help of, well, pretty much everyone to finish his present.

Central City is easy enough. Caitlin smiles at him when he asks her for help. Cisco shakes his head and proclaims Barry the winner of the Secret Santa, not-that-there-was-one-but-if-there-was. William spends nearly fifteen minutes being star-struck by the appearance of the Flash when Barry visits him.

Tracking Roy down in Bludhaven takes longer than expected, but Barry thinks it’s worth it to see the look on Roy’s face when he hears the idea.

Getting to his friends in Star City takes a bit more effort, only because Barry has to avoid detection from Oliver all the while. Felicity proclaims the idea “the best gift ever!” and Ray smiles and pats him on the back. He gets an unexpected hug from Diggle and another from Thea, before she starts berating herself for not having thought of the idea first. He’s worried about going to Detective Lance, but the man just shakes his head and says “you’re something else, kid.”

There’s not a person who doesn’t believe that Oliver will love it.

* * *

The presents are exchanged on Christmas Eve, courtesy of Santa Flash who phases in through the wall of Oliver’s apartment, swaps out the Secret Santa gifts, eats all their cookies, and zips right back out to Central City before anyone even notices he’s there.

Team Arrow spends the night in the living room talking and drinking either hot cider or hot chocolate. Oliver was originally going for the cider but was quickly persuaded by Thea to get hot chocolate instead. With marshmallows.

He’s sitting next to Laurel and sipping at said marshmallows when the clock strikes midnight and Thea cheerfully announces that it’s time for presents.

“We should do the Secret Santa ones first,” she says. “Let’s start with you, Ollie.” She shoves a box into his hands, and it feels like she’s trying to be nonchalant but the whole thing is just suspicious.

Oliver decides to humor her and looks down at the box. It’s wrapped in unapologetically tacky Flash-branded paper, which is a Cisco move if Oliver’s ever seen one. He doesn’t know what kind of gift he’d expect from Cisco. Something technological? A gag gift? He looks up to find everyone smiling at him expectantly. He doesn’t like it. “Why do I get the feeling you all know what’s in here?”

The smiles get bigger and significantly creepier.

Oliver shakes his head and tears off the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box. Inside is a book, sort of. It looks like a scrapbook made with one of those do-it-yourself kits from the local craft score. The cover is tan with a dark green binding. Taped onto it is a piece of paper with the words _My Dearest Oliver_.

Oliver snorts. Given everyone’s strange expressions, he’s half-expecting to see pages of shirtless creeper shots of himself when he opens it.

He’s way off.

_My dearest Oliver,  
I hope this letter finds you well…_

It’s a letter from his mother, written for his first day of college. He had dropped out soon enough, rendering all the sentiment in the letter useless, and until now he had forgotten that the letter had even existed.

He finds he isn’t ready to read the rest of it right now.

The next page has a card from Tommy.

The rest of the book is filled with letters, all starting with the same “My dearest Oliver” and ending with “Love” and sharing memories and well-wishes and words of affection. There’s one from everyone in the room right now and everyone from the team in Central City; there are even letters Oliver didn’t expect like one from Detective Lance, one from Roy in Bludhaven, and, unbelievably, a crayon-scrawled one from William.

He’s feeling… odd. His eyes are misting over, his chest and throat feel tight, and there’s a lump building in his throat, pressure from trying to keep tears and noises contained.

When was the last time he’d really cried?

“Oh my God, Oliver,” Felicity says, and she’s halfway off the couch already, making her way towards him.

Oliver closes the book and forces a cough, then clears his throat. “I’m fine,” he says, stopping her. His nose is incriminatingly congested. He sniffs and clears his throat again. “I just. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” He looks around at everyone. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us,” Laurel says. The expression on her face is gentle. “We just wrote down a bunch of things we expected you to know anyways. You should really thank your Santa.”

“I know,” Oliver says. “Thank you for helping him put it together. It means a lot. Really.”

“You know who it is, don’t you?” Felicity asks.

Oliver smiles wryly. “It’s not hard to guess.” His gift was definitely one from Central City, and there’s only one person there who’s both sentimental enough and _fast_ enough to put something like this together.

He’s sure Barry just thought the book would be something nice to do. There’s no way he could have known how much it could mean to Oliver.

His hand is resting on the cover of the book, but he knows he won’t be opening it again anytime soon—or at least not while everyone else is around. He clears his throat. “Let’s open the rest of the presents.”

Thea leans over and hugs him, brief and tight, before bouncing over and making a show of picking another package from under the tree.

As he swipes at his eyes, Oliver appreciates that everyone else is conspicuously turned towards Thea, letting him have the moment to himself.

He realizes then, with the book as a reminder, that this is it.

This is what love feels like.

* * *

They go to bed not long after the Secret Santa presents are opened, with promises to get back together in the morning for the rest of the presents and for endless holiday food.

Once safely ensconced in his room, Oliver opens the book again and reads through the rest of the letters. 

The surge of emotion coursing through his veins grows with every word, and it’s somehow even more painful than before. It’s not—he’s not _sad_ because how could he be when faced with such an overwhelming display of love?

Because really that’s what this book is—some kind of physical embodiment of love. He never thought he’d be holding anything like it and it almost physically pains him to touch it, to look at it, to read it, to process it.

He reads through every letter twice before he notices that there’s something written on the back cover of the book. He reads that twice, too.

And sitting in his bed, realizing that despite all his worst fears and nightmares he really is surrounded by love, Oliver Queen lets himself cry.

* * *

_My dearest Oliver,_  
Even in the worst of times, always remember—  
You are loved more than you could possibly imagine  
And you are never, ever alone


End file.
